Addiction
by AncientPurebloodPrincessLolita
Summary: In which Yuuri and Victor are addicted...to each other. Featuring: Chubby!Yuuri, Smitten!Victor aka two of the only things that are right with the world.


Victor loves it.

He's sure that very few wouldn't wonder why, and many would call him sick but-

He's addicted.

Everyone says addictions are bad. And Yakov had always warned him about excesses, using a soft, stern tone of voice he knew his affection-starved pupil was weak to, and sweet nicknames that made Victor so happy that he became endearingly enamored of giving them.

" _Too much of a good thing is good for nothing, Vitya."_

And-

" _A man must be Master to his urges, Vityenka. Not an undisciplined slave to cravings."_

And-

" _Abstinence is the key to becoming a champion, my Victor."_

Yakov must hate him. He must be so disappointed in his student as he is now. Now that he was all impulse and flight. Now that his buried spontaneity had burst forth and conquered him, in the guise of beautiful big brown eyes and wide cheeks flushed by the effects of sixteen flutes of grade-A champagne. And when it ruled him, dragged him along by the groin like a rutting dog- accompanied by animalistic panting, incomprehensible gushing, and nearly canine, ear-piercing squeals…? Now that Victor's failing will made it seem as if the boy that Yakov had practically raised had cast aside every devoted lesson in stoicism he'd taught him for foolishness. For indulgence. It would be no wonder. And indeed, Yuuri's transitory states during the year, the vast difference between his seasonal, breath-taxing musculature and his off-season, luscious curvature, made it seem as if Victor had deserted Artemis and offered himself up on an altar to the god of extravagance. (The fact that the Yuuri he first chased to Japan, was the drunkard of a pole-dancer wasn't lessening the credibility of his old coach's mental comparison of his beloved to Bacchus.)

But he doesn't care anymore; he's stopped worrying about it, stopped fighting it, and stopped looking at Yakov look at him like he was _weak_. _Diseased_.

By now he knows that he can't stop.

He knows that he can't help himself.

He's long since let Yuuri in, let Yuuri wreak havoc on his formerly orderly, strictly maintained life. So it's almost, no, _utterly_ _unfair_ to expect him to do the _impossible_ now and actually tame his never-ending desire.

He can't resist; Yuuri's just too much and-

 _Oh_.

Look at that.

While his mind had wondered, his body had instinctively acted to satisfy his yearning. His hands, having moved on their own to caress Yuuri full chest, were now actively roaming his voluptuous form as Victor, lying in bed next to his stunning fiancé, _hungered_ , _thirsted_ for more. And it didn't matter to him how he got it. Whether Yuuri was up to Victor paying homage to every inch of him, careful with him as he usually was during these times. Or whether he wanted Victor to playfully hunt him across their little, though luxurious apartment, before wrestling him down and fucking him into the mattress if he wanted it rough. Equally, Victor was just as eager for his plump Katsudon to have him now, to consume him body and soul like he was nothing more than a cupcake, as he was for his sleek Eros to effortlessly enforce his dominance of him in and out of the rink during times of competition as if he wasn't even worthy of being his rival. Victor could see it now, Yuuri's round belly pressing against his chiseled one, those thick thighs perfect for Victor to perch himself upon, cushioning his every, exuberant bounce as he rode him like a stallion, and that fuller face glowing with sweat, awaiting Victor's tender adoration. And after, there was always immense amounts of cuddling, because his poor, precious Yuuri had to catch his breath, and usually ended up falling asleep, exhausted from hefting his all-too-delicious bulk. Sometimes, when Yuuri wanted a special kind of treat, and worried about how breakable Victor was in comparison to him now, he would recline while Victor would straddle his pliable, velvety face, and-

 _Ah_ , what bliss it was just recalling it…! His Yuuri would devour him so thoroughly that he was left barely clinging to coherence, if only to ensure that Yuuri didn't freak out and swear off eating him out _just_ because it shorted out his brain. It was even better when chubby Yuuri insisted on making love face to face, then Victor could see him strain ever so cutely as he was overcome by fervor, and feel him crush him and over-power him with his weight when it was over. Reassuring him that his lovely spouse wouldn't leave him cold and alone after he'd had his fill. And wasn't it addictive when Yuuri wanted to mount him as if he knew how much of a bitch in heat Victor was whenever he sported love handles or wielded his double-chin shamelessly like a weapon.

And he did.

Yuuri did.

And he loved it.

Relished it.

 _Thrived_ in it.

Simply because much like Victor was devoid of affection his whole life, he had been lacking in self-esteem. So, to know that one of the world's most eligible bachelors had it so bad for him that even if he was a hundred pounds over-weight Victor fucking Nikiforov still drooled at the very sight of him…Yuuri could do nothing put bloom under the attention. He couldn't help it, but he preened. He slept naked. He tickled Victor's fantasies with every cosplay from the traditional naked-save-an-apron wife, to the classic Japanese high school girl. He flaunted himself in yukata. He wore more skimpy things than ever, paying his Vitya back for his submission to Yuuri's weakness for him crossdressing, by answering in kind. It was all crop tops and tights, T-backs and vintage running shorts, yoga pants and threadbare tank tops, and every combination in between. And much like Yuuri when the Russian strut out of their walk-in closet in nothing but perfect make-up and towering stiletto heels, or draped himself, already prepped, across the Japanese man's lap in slutty lingerie, (leather, silken, or lacy – it didn't matter), or wore toys in his panties under tailored suits, or simply existed in his life as a reality- well…Victor was always worshipping at his altar like a starving convert.

But best of all, even when circumstances or off days where everything seemed awful and his confidence didn't dip so much as completely disappear, had Yuuri covered up from head to toe, Victor still _wanted_. Victor still _needed_. Victor still _loved_ him.

The man was borderline obsessed, and though Yuuri couldn't fathom why when he wasn't even _trying_ Victor's fascination persisted, he had never felt so blest in his life.

It was marvelous, and he pondered absentmindedly as he pushed the giggling, teasing silver minx down into the bedding and stole the air out of his lungs with a kiss, which was more captivating? His addiction to _Victor_ , or being addicted to Victor's addiction to _him?_

In reverse, Victor wondered the exact same thing.


End file.
